


bunker cuffs

by winchestersinthedrift



Series: wincest drabbles [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Bunker Sex, Handcuffs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 12:07:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4705472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winchestersinthedrift/pseuds/winchestersinthedrift





	bunker cuffs

Sam’s sitting at one of the library tables in the bunker, which isn’t unusual. It’s a little more unusual that he’s holding a pair of cuffs, twirling one of the rings around his index finger. But still, not really that weird. They must have a dozen or two pairs of cuffs around the place. What _is_ unusual is that he’s naked. 

‘C’mere,’ he says to Dean, who stops just inside the door and gives him one of those ‘ _really_ , are we doing this, Sammy?’ looks. ‘Come here,’ Sam says again, enunciating this time, and Dean feels it in the marrow of his spine. He steps toward Sam and stops just to the side of the table. 

‘Strip,’ says Sam, flicking slanted eyes up at him, and he does: henley up over his shoulders, jeans unbuckled slipping to the floor, boxer-briefs peeled off with his eyes still on Sam’s face. He steps right between Sam’s thighs then, one leg forward a little so his thigh rubs up against Sam’s cock, and he pulls Sam’s face up and takes a messy, tongue-swiping kiss, thumbing light along the lines of Sam’s jaw. It lasts a long time and when he lets go Sam’s this trembling mess and there’s pre-cum smearing all across Dean’s thigh.

Sam stands up and then Dean’s kneeling at the end of the desk, facing in, and Sam’s cuffing him to the corners, locking a shackle to the top of the the two desk legs. There’s a sort of metal bar running just under the rim of the table so Dean can wrap his fingers around it and not hang full from his wrists, which is good, cause right away Sam pulls his knees backwards so that he’s on them but most of his weight falls forward, torso stretched out, cuffed wrists and taut forearms taking most of his weight. The muscles of his shoulders are flexed and working. 

When Sam has Dean’s hips where he wants them he rolls onto his back and slides up under him so that his arms fit around Dean’s thighs, big hands up and cupping his ass, and his mouth is right underneath Dean’s cock, which by now is full and bobbing slightly with the shifting of his body. Sam flexed his arms and it pulls Dean down another inch. The position he’s in has already got him tensed, muscles twitching in a constant subconscious attempt to correct his balance, so when Sam extends his tongue and licks over the head of his cock, he groans and pumps his hips. 

‘Like that?’ says Sam, doing it again.

‘Nngnh,’ says Dean, and feels all the muscles in his ass clench and quiver. ‘For chrissake - ufff- hnnnng - nnng.’ 

For once Sam doesn’t make him wait - hikes his shoulders up an inch or two, grips Dean’s ass tight in big hands and pulls him down into his mouth, wet overwhelming suction. When Dean lets his head drop and looks down the slope of his chest he thinks he might come just from the visual alone: Sam’s face tipped up and flushed with pink, lips sealed around him, from this angle the planes of his cheeks and nose almost unfamiliar, and below them, just under Dean’s hips, his shoulders, thinner now than they’d been in the past but broad and sculpted with muscle. 

Sam brings a finger up to his mouth and opens his eyes to watch Dean watch him, sticks it in alongside Dean’s cock and for a moment they rub together over Sam’s tongue. Then he pulls it out and pulls Dean open with long fingers and circles his rim with the wet one, not penetrating, just pressing, hemming Dean in front and back with the press and pull of his flesh. 

‘Ahhhhh,’ says Dean, and shudders into Sam’s mouth, bucking his hips against his face, biceps knotting as he grips the bar and rattles against the cuffs. 

‘Hrrrm,’ says Sam, around him, and a low punchy warmth is spreading now, thrumming and building between his legs. 

‘Sam!’ he says once, loud and rough. Sam hitches up a little higher, squeezes Dean’s ass, hollows his cheeks, and rubs the pad of his finger just, just inside Dean’s rim and Dean groans and shoots into Sam’s mouth, cock lurching against Sam’s soft palate. He groans through the whole wringing two minutes before he quiets and breathes. Sam scoots back out from under him and Dean gets back up on his knees, thighs still shaking. Sam crouches to undo the cuffs, still breathing heavy, cock ramrod stiff against his tummy and lips dark pink with slick. 

‘You sexy fuck,’ says Dean, rubbing his wrists and growling. ‘Your turn.’


End file.
